Coiled within a serpentine fear
Slowly coming to life
Powered by venomous anxiety
Poised to strike
Restless under my clammy skin
I lament the loss
Of kindness, integrity, liberty
In this dark strife
That has led our worlds astray
With poisoned words
The stark beauty of silence
When only the eyes speak
Sometimes burning
As the lonely log
In an ashen fireplace
Sometimes cold
Like the winter snow
Only to be swept away
There is a crack in the wall
I scrape it with fingernails
Chipping out a bit of paint
I feel the plaster crumbling;
Or is it just brittle cuticles
From a hand tired of gnawing
At barriers mocking me with
Promises of light and warmth
Beyond the dent in the enclosure
It was more purple than green
An ugly gash refusing to heal
Salve nor balm, rest nor restrain
Strong enough to erase the pain
A bruise so blue, a crimson tear
Sweet hurt with trembling fear
Yet, I tend to these injuries deep
Purge the venom, not let it seep
Into crevices of my soul so grim
Discard memories like dead skin
It hurt a bit, the little scratch
When a vagrant nail scraped
With nonchalant smugness;
What pained more, was the yarn
Pulled out from a cozy space
It stared at me, pleading repair
It’s world ready to unravel
With a stitch now haywire
I held the woolen memory
Lovingly in my warm hand
Still smelling of mothballs
Just subdued by gentle wash;
Grabbed a frigid crochet hook
Delicately weaved in the strand
Tied a neat knot, pulled it tight
Tucked it all away, out of sight
Blue Pen Strokes 